


The Art of Building a Nest I

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Deaf Character, Deaf Dean Winchester, F/M, Gen, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is rather skeptical about a couple coming all the way from Maryland to take them back home with them. They can't possibly want to keep him - he's stupid and worthless. Not to mention deaf. It doesn't matter that the couple is deaf too - once they find out how horrible he is, they won't want to keep him. How wrong Dean is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Building a Nest I

Dean Winchester was rather skeptical about what the social worker had told him. A couple was coming all the way to Minneapolis from Potomac, Maryland to take him to their home. Maryland. He'd looked at an atlas and saw how far it was – at least an entire day and night's worth of travel – and he couldn't believe it. No one would do that for someone like him. Pastor Jim was probably two hours away from where Dean was right now and he'd never shown up. Uncle Bobby was three hours and he hadn't shown either. Of course, Dean liked to tell himself that was because they didn't know where he was. Although if Dad had shown up at either place for Thanksgiving or Christmas, the gig might have been up – who knew what they'd been told. He had to wonder what Sammy had been told. If anyone had noted his absence and cared, at least a little bit, it was Sammy.

The fact that someone was coming from so far away, a full three days worth of travel, (Dean figured that the couple had to have stopped for the night twice) that was just hard to imagine. It was hard for Dean imagining someone caring that much about him without knowing all that much about him. Once they found out what a stupid, clumsy, and worthless little boy he was, however, surely they'd return him. As much as the social workers were trying to convince him he was none of those things – and maybe they were right – Dad had told him he was. When he tried to tell them that, the social workers told him Dad was wrong. Someone was lying and Dean would very much like to know who it was. 

Dean kept his vigil in the window-seat , his focus more on the book of ASL he'd been given for Christmas thanks to the taxpayers of the great state of Minnesota rather than outside. He'd been told that the couple coming were deaf like him – and that was one of the reasons they were traveling so far, in _January_ – as if his deafness was somehow an asset, instead of the wretched deformity it was. He'd seen on the TV that another snowstorm was expected this afternoon. A shift in the light caused him to look up and he felt his eyes widen.

Standing just inside the room was an angel. An angel in the form of a dark-haired woman with expressive blue-gray eyes. Dean could only stare at the vision in front of him – her cheeks were pink from the cold outside, and she looked as if she had just run the distance from the front door up to this room. 

He rose to his feet and walked halfway across the room, getting a better look at the woman – what was her name again? Elizabeth? Elisa? Elise? He had been so occupied with preparing himself for being rejected that he'd not bothered to remember details. He straightened his shoulders, wondering why the woman was looking at him the way she was. Like she couldn't believe he was real. _“Good morning.”_ Dean signed to her, biting at his bottom lip.

His words seem to break something in the woman's expression and she smiled. Oh, that smile was something Dean had only dreamed about. He had wanted to see a smile like that for weeks – months – years. The smile he'd seen on mothers in all those towns and places Dad went. The kind of smile he envied – the smile he couldn't quite remember on his own mom's face.

 _“Good morning.”_ The woman replied and she stepped closer, her hand lingering in the air, as if she longed to touch him. It was an awkward position. Movement behind her caused Dean to shift his gaze. A man now stood in the doorway. He was younger than Dad. Whereas Dad had grown a beard, this man looked as if he had just forgotten to shave for a few days. His eyes were warm and brown, and he had a smile – the same sort of smile Dean had seen on the faces of Pastor Jim and Uncle Bobby – the ones that said – _I'm happy to see you._

Dean could only conclude he was dreaming. No way this was happening, not for him. Things like this didn't happen. He watched the man walk up to his wife, his smile never wavering. When he got closer, Dean could see the thick hearing-aides on the back of the man's ears.

 _“Hello, Dean.”_ The man spelled out his name with his fingers. 

_“Hello.”_ He replied, not entirely trusting the man – Michael, wasn't it? He shifted on his feet, not certain what to do. They looked like such a nice couple – they deserved a much better kid than he was. 

*

Dean fell asleep in the backseat of the Coulter's sedan shortly after they crossed over the state line into Wisconsin. The lull of the road was a familiar lullaby to him – and he'd been so nervous last night, he'd barely slept. He rarely slept well anymore – what sleep he did was riddled with nightmares of Dad finding him. Dad had left him in that hospital, surely he meant to come back to collect him in the end. Of course, the social workers had told him that under no circumstances was John Winchester ever going to get custody of him again. 

The social workers didn't know Dad.

A change in the car's motion woke him hours later, and he frowned as they traveled up an exit ramp and into some town that looked far less run down than the sort of places Dad stopped. Where in the world where they? He rubbed his eyes and watched, rather surprised when the car pulled into the parking lot of a motel. 

They were calling it a day already? 

Dean couldn't believe it – it wasn't all that dark. Dad never stopped for the day this early. He also never started as late as the Coulters did. He mentally gave himself a reprimand. Of course the Coulters would do things differently. Not everyone was like Dad. Looking over the top of the back of the front seat, Dean could see the clock on the dashboard – it was just after six in the evening. 

The room itself was another shock. Dean had no idea that motel rooms came in any other style than dank and dirty. The room where he now found himself was brightly lit, free of that awful smell he always was aware of but Dad and Sammy had never noticed, and everything worked. The room was furnished with two large beds, a table with two chairs and a desk, and a television stood on a dresser that was opposite the beds. Elisa told him the bed nearer the window was his – having the door on an interior hallway was another curious thing – and it was all so unfamiliar to him. 

Uncertain of what he should be doing, Dean figured the best thing to do was stay out of the way. He sat with his ASL book open on his lap, rather surprised when Michael turned on the TV, did something with the remote and suddenly, lines of text, like subtitles, appeared on the screen. Just what sort of other things were there that he didn't know about? He'd only been able to tell the weather on the television because there were maps and such. Were these text lines something new, or had they always been there? 

Naturally, there had only been one topic of news on the TV for the past month – that horrific plane crash in Scotland. Dean had only been able to gather that a lot of people died and someone had done it on purpose, but now, with the text on the screen he was able to learn a little more. Michael signed something that confused him greatly. _“Have I mentioned how glad I am not to be over there in Scotland gathering debris?”_ He shook his head. _“I'm going to get our dinner. I should be back soon.”_

 _“All right.”_ Elisa smiled. _“Be careful.”_

Dean set his book down and tapped Elisa on the shoulder as Michael left the room. She turned to look up at him, smiling. _“Did you need something Dean?”_

_“Why would Michael go to Scotland?”_

In response, she turned to him and began to sign, going slowly so he could completely understand her. _“Michael works for the National Transportation and Safety Board. Sometimes, when there are aviation accidents, they have him journey to the crash site to help gather evidence.”_

He felt his eyes widen. Michael helped find out what caused plane crashes? That was sort of – he wasn't sure what the word for that was. Maybe Michael could hear pretty good with those hearing-aides of his and it didn't matter that he was deaf. _“I don't like flying – even though I've only been on a plane once.”_

 _“I am not to fond of it myself.”_ She patted the bed next to her, indicating he should sit down. After he did so, Elisa resumed signing. _“Thankfully, Michael doesn't have to travel very often.”_

 _“I didn't...”_ Dean felt his face flush with embarrassment. _“I didn't think deaf people could do things like that.”_

She gave him a look he couldn't quite read. _“Michael used to think the same way.”_ He must have looked surprised and she continued. _“He used to be able to hear. When he was around your age, he caught the measles and at the time, they didn't know that the medication used to treat it could damage your hearing.”_

Dean wasn't certain how to take that – not right away. Somehow, it seemed worse to him to be able to hear and then have it suddenly taken away than to never hear at all. You didn't know what you were missing. _“But – the hearing-aides?”_

 _“He can hear a little, but without them, he can't hear any better than the two of us.”_ She gave him an encouraging smile. _“What have you been working on with your book?”_

He went to retrieve the book, showing her the page he'd spent the morning studying. _“I should have learned all this a long time ago, right?”_

Elisa reached out and ruffled his hair, a little hesitantly. Dean had to restrain himself from closing his eyes at the contact. It'd been so very long since anyone showed him something akin to real affection. _“It wasn't your fault, Dean.”_ She settled back into a sit. Being this close, he could smell the faint trace of some kind of soap and some kind of herb – something he had once smelled in Pastor Jim's kitchen. _“Why don't we set the table up so we'll be ready to eat when Michael comes back?”_ Dean nodded and went to move the desk chair over to the table.

When Michael returned to the room with a pizza box, Dean was already prepared mentally for the meal. Pizza was an unheard of treat in the Winchester family. Dean could only recall eating it twice before in his life. Dean lowered his head when the adults said Grace. Dean didn't believe in God – well, okay, maybe he believed in Him a little – but he remembered from when he used to stay at Pastor Jim's – you bowed your head out of respect to others at the table, at least. 

Dean knew the protocol of when food appeared on the table and that's why he had to steel himself mentally. It was very simple: he ate last. It didn't matter if it was cold, it didn't matter if it was something that had been mashed, dropped on the floor, or damaged in other ways. He ate last, plain and simple. If the bowls, plates, etc were empty at the end of the meal, he either ate what was left on the diner's plates or he didn't eat at all. He was _always_ expected to eat last, no matter the meal. In the group home no one had told him any different. The only exception he'd faced with the rule in the past four months was when he was in the hospital and nurses put trays of food in front of him. Even then, he hadn't been too sure about eating everything on his plate. Surely someone else needed an extra helping, or something. The pizza smelled incredible and he had to clutch the sides of the chair to keep himself restrained as he watched the box being opened and Michael give Elisa the first slice. He made a motion to Dean to get himself a slice, but Dean shook his head. What if this was some kind of trick? He lowered his head and grimaced as his stomach twisted in hunger. He hoped the Coulters were fast eaters.

Because his head was down, he didn't see the couple exchange looks and a moment later, Dean saw his plate vanish – only to return a moment later with two slices of pizza on it. He looked up, befuddled. 

_“You're a growing boy, Dean.”_ Elisa signed to him, and he could see the tears in the corners of her eyes. Had he done something wrong? _“You must be hungry.”_

He nodded faintly and picked up one of his slices, taking a tentative bite. His assumption about pizza was correct – it was incredible when it was still hot. He set the slice down to muster out a _“Thank you”_ before he returned eating, savoring each bite.

*  
That night, Dean had a nightmare. It was far worse than any he'd had lately. Dad was furious at him for eating before Sammy did. For eating more than Sammy. Dean had tried to sign that Sammy hadn't even been at the dinner table, but it was no good. The wrath of John Winchester, armed with fists and a leather belt had rained down on him without mercy. He'd never escape the man, he didn't deserve to escape....

The smell of soap and aftershave flooded his senses and Dean became aware of the fact he was held tightly in the arms of two people, and he was sobbing into the shoulder of the one who smelled like aftershave. Great. Now the Coulters knew what a weak, worthless thing he was and they'd take him back. At least he had had this one great memory. A strong, gentle hand stroked the back of his head, and he could feel a warm breath across his cheek. A thumb brushed a tear away and Dean felt his cheeks burn pink with shame. 

Elisa looked over the head of the trembling boy and into her husband's face. In her blue-gray eyes, Michael could see the steely anger contained there and knew his own expression mirrored it. Someone had hurt Dean to the point of breaking. He had known that taking Dean in wasn't going to be easy, that there would be so much to heal. He had just hoped they could have gotten home to Maryland first.

Michael Coulter decided on that cold midwinter night in January that if he ever met John Winchester, he'd break the bastard's jaw. He'd then hold the man's arms so Elisa could break his nose. But for tonight, he adjusted his arms so that Dean was shifted into his wife's lap and he was embracing the both of them. 

Elisa had been right. Dean needed them. The boy might not realize it yet, he might not even dare to hope for it, but they were going to take care of him – raise him – and help him find his way out of the horrific prison his biological father had locked him away in.


End file.
